


If It Works

by HiddenEye



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Attempt at Humor, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Excessive Swearing, Friends reference, Innuendo, M/M, Meet-Cute, Modern Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Suggestive Themes, because joey tribbiani’s backpacking story saves lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 13:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20761226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenEye/pseuds/HiddenEye
Summary: The first time Bucky Barnes met Steve Rogers was when the star spangled man with a plan cockblocked him in his own apartment.





	If It Works

**Author's Note:**

> Cuts a piece of this fic. It’s making sure the meat is tender for consumption and you’ll enjoy its juiciness on the first bite.
> 
> Written for CapSepTender!

Bucky was used to bad days. There were good days, there were days that were not-so-great but bearable enough for him to trough through because it was something people do when they hit a bump on the road. And like everyone else in the world, moving on was expected because if you didn’t dig yourself out of the plot hole, you were bound to stay there longer than expected.

Which was fine in most cases; you were entitled to lean back and rest for a little while before climbing back up again.

But, today. _ Today_, Bucky was having a downright shitty day and he was on the verge of squeezing the piping bag too hard and let all the icing sludge itself on the cupcake he was decorating.

There were two refunds. _ Two. _ It was bad enough they even had one in the first place but to answer another call that afternoon with a “I didn’t order this.” had Bucky flipping through the file of receipts and _ contracted evidence _ of what this middle-aged mother had ordered for her fifteen-year-old son’s birthday she was having that night. Like _ hell _ was he about to let her lay him off like some hipster tootin’ newbie.

She did, in fact, have Bucky baked a large cake shaped of a baseball bat with a sparkling candle perched on top a week ago, and he had taken great pride in making sure it was perfect. To the point his marzipan baseball player figurines had their eyeballs and nostrils carved because he wasn’t a lil’ bitch.

When Bucky pointed out her order, she grumbled something about her husband _ was _ supposed to cancel that order. He said, with pressed patience, that wasn’t the case and she still had to pay the bakery for her order. As expected, she screamed at him for even considering to let her pay when she didn’t want it anymore before slamming the phone on him.

Not only did he have a fucking large cake in his hands, but the commercial freezer that kept all his ice cream cakes broke down somewhere in the middle of the night that the floor of his shop was experiencing a flooding incident. When Bucky opened shop that morning, it was stepping into a huge-ass puddle of melted ice cream in Barnes and Cakes. The shop smelled like cotton candy and his sneakers were soaked with purple and pink. He was so damn sure the Lady of the Lake was going to peer at him in understandable confusion sometime later.

So, he didn’t appreciate getting yelled at for a miscommunication within someone else’s domestic household when his shoes could let him stick on the goddamn walls.

It was decidedly too early in ass o’clock in the morning for that kind of mess — before it landfilled into a _ shittier _ kinda mess; he was about to start mopping the floor when Peter came in from the back, keys juggling as he whistled to whatever song he was listening to with his giant headphones. He stopped when Bucky stormed out of the restroom with a bucket of water and a mop clutched in each hand, a string of curses floating behind him. “Uh, Mr. Barnes?”

“Keep your things and grab another mop,” Bucky ordered, shoving the mop into the bucket until water splashed over the lid. “And help me clean this up.”

There was a rattle and _ thud _ before the slam of the locker door could be heard. “What? What happened? Did something fall?” Peter got out with the requested mop, and grimaced at how the floor looked as if a passing unicorn took a shat and left for them to deal with it. “Aw, man.”

“Yeah,” Bucky grunted, watching the rainbow coloured ice cream soak his mop. “Looks like we’re gonna open a bit late today, buddy, go put up the sign until we wipe this down.”

Peter looked around, a little helpless. “Uh,”

Bucky sighed, before he levelled a steely look at the teenager. “I’m letting you use the counters as your trampoline just this once. And take off your damn shoes this time.”

“I told you, I thought it was a rat,” Peter muttered as he toed off his sneakers, and Bucky pointed the butt of the mop at him in warning. 

“New York might be crawling with rats but Barnes and Cakes is strictly rat-free,” he reminded him seriously, and Peter rolled his eyes as he climbed up the counter to avoid all the ice cream, swinging open the cabinet to reach for the small whiteboard and marker they kept there. “How in the hell did you think that tongs was a rat? Christ, kid.”

“I had a tiring night,” Peter told him as he stretched to the nearest surface, which happened to be the shelves they held freshly baked goods. Good thing they were empty then, but Bucky made a mental note to make Peter wipe them down as his socked feet slid from one end to another. “I have, uh, school and there were,” he paused, as if considering his words. “A bunch of, y’know, homework I had to finish off. So you can imagine how much sleep I’m getting.”

“If you’re timetable’s so packed, why’d you work here in the first place?” Bucky watched the kid jumped in front of the door, and began jotting down his earlier words. “You need some rest too, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know, but I want some extra cash to bring with me to college later and I don’t wanna _ ask _ from my aunt, right?” Peter used the suction cup to hang the whiteboard. “Scholarship’s gonna bring me there, sure, but some leaves won’t hurt.” He turned around, and made a face at the floor. “How did this happen again?”

“Freezer malfunction, I need to call someone for that later.” Bucky nodded at Freezer the Betrayer. 

He paid good money for that seven years ago, the first time he started his business, but apparently the big bucks ain’t mean shit in this hubristic of a generation. The only good thing was that Bucky was still under warranty.

“And I totally understand about the money,” Bucky continued. “But if you wanna stop working here, you gotta give me a heads up so that I can find a newbie to take over, alright?”

Peter gave him a two-finger salute before he climbed back on the shelves. “Not gonna happen anytime soon since I only work for the weekends, but I totally get it, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky huffed. “I told you to call me Bucky.”

“No can do, Mr. Barnes. And the ‘Mr. Barnes is my dad’ won’t work again either.” Peter grinned, somersaulting himself to the ground again once he was in the clear.

Now, it was the evening and Bucky was finishing up the last batch of cupcakes another party ordered from them. Thankfully, this customer didn’t make a call to tell him that they were cancelling their order, and the reason he was even doing it the last minute was because the order was placed two days ago. The stress of juggling a lot of things at once was choking Bucky halfway to the ground; it was a good thing they only needed a dozen cupcakes and their party started at nine.

After sprinkling a crush of Reese’s cups on each cupcake, Bucky began packing them in a box before Peter walked out from the back, headphones and stachel slung on his person. “Last one for the day?”

“Yeah. You sure you can do this alone?”

“I have my bike, so yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ll be fine.”

Bucky passed the box to him. “Be careful. Everyone’s a dick behind the wheel for some reason.”

“Yesterday, someone honked at me when I was at the zebra crossing even though their side was _ clearly _ red.” Peter snorted. “Don’t know what’s his problem, but I’m just gonna assume he needed the toilet so bad that he couldn’t hold it in any longer.”

“Well, he should have taken a dump before he left, wouldn’t he?” Bucky waved him away. “Go on. I’m gonna close up soon, and text me when you’ve dropped the thing off.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Peter swivelled around, box in one hand, the other fiddling with his phone when it chimed for his attention.

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t text and drive, Parker.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Peter called out, shoving his phone into his jacket pocket before closing the door behind him.

Bucky made sure everything was in place before he left. It was giving a long look at the newly fixed freezer, mourning at how empty the racks were, before pressing a finger onto the cold glass with a firm, “Do _ not _ die on me again.”

And then, he turned around and got out the same way Peter did, keys and jacket in hand.

Bucky deserved a reward for putting up with what mess he was rammed with. As he mounted his motorcycle, gathering his hair into a low bun, he decided that a) he was going to his favourite bar and spend money on some good booze b) maybe play Eyes and Nice with someone who would be interested and c) bring them back to his apartment to finish their lil’ game after blue-balling each other for half an hour.

Yeah. That sounded pretty solid. Nodding silently to himself, Bucky slipped on his helmet, started the engine, and shot off.

When he first arrived, the bar was already packed with people, but Bucky quickly eeled past the occupied chairs when he saw a couple leaving their stools. He dropped on one, ordered a shot of vodka, drowned that in a huge gulp, and then asked for another shot before he even put down his glass.

He was cradling his third when someone dropped on the empty seat beside him. Bucky pretended to not notice him at first, taking a sip of his beverage as the guy ordered a drink for himself —something called Glazed Curves of the Sun or whatever fuck that was— gaze remained on the television above their heads.

American football. Classic.

And then, Bucky took a peek at the corner of his eye.

The guy was good-looking; chiseled jaw, strawberry blond hair swept to one side, white teeth flashing under the lights while he was striking up a conversation with the bartender — clearly a good friend of sorts from how well they were together. He had a mole on his left cheek from where Bucky sat. He was probably only slightly taller than Bucky, lean built.

Cute. Charming, if the way the bartender laughed had anything to say about it. Definitely perfect for a one night stand.

Now, it was about getting his attention. 

Bucky would _ never _ use The Story in his life _ unless _ he _ really _ had to. He heard it from a guy, who heard it from a girl, who heard it from the original guy. Bucky had been impressed with how _ effective _ it was, honestly, he never thought people would actually fall for it in the first place. _ He _ fell for it.

In his defense, he had been very wasted and was mortified the next morning. Bucky remembered being sternly reminded by the last guy that he had to be _ very _suave or The Story wouldn’t work.

It had been a long summer wedding season for him and he lost count on how many cakes he made. He was getting desperate for a dick down, so sue him.

Bucky made a show of letting his elbow bump into the guy’s arm, apologising profusely when some of his vodka sloshed over the rim and spilled onto his hand and the guy’s shirt. The guy laughed, eyes twinkling when they looked at at Bucky and _ oh _those were the brightest honey he’d seen, yes.

_ Focus, Barnes. Focus. _

Bucky snapped himself back to work, looking at the guy through his lashes, and let his lips stretch into an easy smile as they began to talk. It wasn’t until they reached the second stage of Fuck ‘n’ Go, laughing with their heads tilted back, that it finally was really going to happen.

And _ then_, Bucky took direct action.

He gave the guy —whose name he found out was Henry— another one of his wanna-fuck-me smiles Becca had oh-so-fondly named after, rolling the empty shot glass between his fingers. “Wanna hear a story?”

Henry raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Is it any good?”

“Eh, not too bad.” Bucky tilted his head, a strand of hair falling from his ear. “If you wanna, that is.”

Henry leaned closer enough that Bucky would’ve turned his hand and ran his fingers up his arm, but he stayed still, letting Henry believe he had the reins. “I’m all ears.”

God, if any of his family members caught him like this, he was going to be the topic of every dinner of the Barnes household long after he was buried six feet under.

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. “Years ago, when I was backpacking across Western Europe, I was just outside Barcelona, hiking in the foothills of Mount Tibidabo.”

Oh, did _ that _ work.

Next thing Bucky knew, he was unlocking the door to his apartment with his arm twisted behind him, kissing Henry with teeth and tongue while warm hands were cupping his face and fuck, when was the fucking door going to _ open_.

“Shit,” Bucky muttered, jiggling the doorknob furiously as he craned his head to glare at it. That only made Henry bring his kisses to his neck. “Just— wait a second, I’m gonna have to—“

He turned around, heaved the door up a little before turning the lock, and they were stumbling into his home with no grace whatsoever.

Bucky reached out blindly for the switches as he yanked Henry back for another hard kiss that caused the man to snicker, before a sudden loud crash made them jump.

“Christ,” Henry panted, eyes wide on the closed window as Bucky glared up at his ceiling. “What the hell was that?”

“Probably Mr. Kingsly dropping his collection of canes again,” Bucky said, eyes still drilled on the brown planes and hope his irritation penetrated through the layer that separated between them. “He’d polish them every night and at least eight of them would fall on my head.” He met Henry’s look with a shrug. “It happens, you don’t have to worry about it.”

Henry still looked unsure as he glanced at the window again. “Are you sure? Because it sounded as if it came from outside. And it was _ loud_.”

For God’s sake, all Bucky wanted was a quick fuck and live the rest of his life without having ants crawling under his own skin because he hadn’t had his monthly release. He just had a hard day at the _ bakery_. His date for the day noticing his neighbour’s weird late night hobby wasn’t supposed to be on the plan.

Mr. Kingsly, you owe the whole floor a fucking Christmas party.

“It’s nothing,” Bucky cooed, trying to soften his voice as he let his finger flitter against the line of stubbled jaw. That caught Henry’s attention, and Bucky gave him a dazzling smile. “Really. You shouldn’t worry about it.”

Henry was starting to visibly relax, one corner of his mouth lifting up as he subconsciously leaned into Bucky’s sweet words. 

“Where were we?” Bucky murmured, tilting his head just so—

Before the window to his apartment exploded into a million pieces and Captain America rolled onto his grandmother’s old Persian rug to a squat.

“Sorry!” Captain America, national icon, all in his reds and blues and clutching onto his shiny round shield, crouched in Bucky’s apartment as if it was part of some plan his team had conjured up before he got to work. “Got some HYDRA dickwards chasing me ‘round with sizzling spatulas, so I’ll try to get out of here as soon as I can.”

Henry had his jaw on the ground and Bucky was staring at the pieces of glass on his favourite carpet. Steve Rogers, Captain America, looked down what his big and dirty boots were stepping on and winced. Steve Rogers, star-spangled man with a plan, met Bucky’s look from the three-long generation year old carpet the Barnes family inherited with a determined gleam in his eye. “I swear, if I could, I’d clean this up.”

“What the fuck.” Henry whispered.

Then, Captain America whipped his head towards the broken window again. It happened for a split second, but he raised from his crouch and bolted forward with his shield up. The sound of something colliding against it could be heard, a comical _ thwunk _of a thing, before the air above the building beside their unit exploded and shouts of pain could be heard.

“What the fuck!” Henry exclaimed, raising his hands in front of his face.

“Sorry again. Nazis, y’know. They’re kinda predictable.” Captain America shrugged those huge shoulders of his, _ ridiculously _ huge that they bunched up to where his ears popped out from his ridiculously small helmet, as if this was an everyday thing that just happens in his life and Bucky had the honours of experiencing it in front row seats.

It snapped Bucky out of his shock, and he shook his head angrily that he got distracted with those shoulders and that stupidly tiny helmet when _ Captain fucking America _ was inside his home and was using it as some kind of a temporary safe house. “What the hell’s happening here? Why— are people actually throwing _ grenades _ at you?”

“Yeah, it’s getting old,” Captain America replied, sticking his head out of the window as if he wasn’t about to get killed just a minute ago. “I mean, sometimes gas bombs would’ve been slightly better but they’re getting desperate.”

What the fuck. _ What the fuck_. Bucky was caught in the middle of a fight and Captain America was talking about weapon preferences as if he was choosing a shirt from Target.

It was obvious the only thing Bucky had to do was get out and leave, maybe bunk over at Becca’s place to lay low until everything simmered down and nothing was blowing up within five feet radius of his place.

But this was _ his _ home goddammit. He used the money he saved up from when preteen Bucky was still selling his baked goods through his parents’ office mates to get all that cash, and he wasn’t about to let some superhero chase him out even if there were murderers outside his window.

“Look,” Henry began loudly, honey eyes snapping between Bucky, Captain America, and the window, before finally settling on Bucky again. “I gotta go.”

Wait, what—

Bucky sucked in a breath. “Henry—“

“I _ really _gotta go,” Henry cut him off, already swivelling away and wrenching the front door open. He turned his head, fingers white against the edge of the wood as he gave Bucky a feeble smile. “It was nice knowing you, Bucky.”

Then, he left with a slam of the door.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky rubbed his face with his palms before pressing the heels of them into his eyes. No date, no sex, one broken window, and one supersoldier in his living room.

Speaking of which.

Bucky dropped his arms to his sides to see Captain America looking straight at him with the bluest eyes Bucky’s tipsy mind had ever had the privilege of seeing; patient, almost at ease. One of the greatest historical men was standing there, streetlights filtering through the broken windows and catching the shape of his mouth and the breadth of his chest, as if he was an angel who came down from the Heavens to bestow Bucky with his blessing.

Maybe, Captain America could bestow him for some dicking.

No, _ no_. Absolutely _ not_. Bucky was supposed to be mad at this, this _ man _for breaking into his home and bringing danger to the community around him when he could’ve just exchanged fists with facists at the basement parking lot.

“He was a date?” Captain America inquired a little tentatively, as if guilty he was the cause of Bucky’s ongoing blue balls.

Bucky pressed into the wound further. “He _ was._”

Captain America cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck as he looked away, the perfect image of an embarrassed church boy who accidentally saw his teachers fucking in the toilets. “Sorry about that.”

But, the bastard looked as if he was trying very hard not to smile that Bucky had half a mind to grab his broom and swat at him, national superhero or no.

Then, Captain America stilled, head bowed slightly that Bucky swallowed his indignance down his throat to listen to the faint sounds of traffic outside his window. There were car horns, tyres screeching across the asphalt, but whatever it was that Captain America was listening to, Bucky didn’t have any enhanced hearing to help him pluck out what oddity this hurricane of a country was currently going through.

Another second ticked by before Captain America peeked through the gaping window again, eyes searching the skylines as he began, “I’d prefer it if you stay indoors for the night. These idiots are hellbent on killing me right now that it’s going to take a while to shake ‘em off my tail. And, ah,” The charming smile he shot Bucky went straight to his toes, and maybe snagged onto the zipper of his pants too. “I promise I’ll pay for the window.”

It wasn’t fair, honestly. Bucky had a chance of experiencing the greatest night of his life _ right then _ but that wasn’t even coherently proper in any way. Never say that Bucky Barnes didn’t have chivalry, but this. _ This_.

“Sure, Captain America,” Bucky said dryly. “I’ll ding your private number to remind you later.”

Captain America grinned. “Steve, actually. And I’ll look forward to it, Mr...?”

“Bucky Barnes.” Bucky crossed his arms. “Bucky is fine.”

“I’ll say.” Captain America, _ Steve,_ commented, eyes sparkling like the damn sea themselves_. _

Bucky gaped at him, but Steve was already looking out of the window again, before he cursed under his breath and immediately began climbing out of it with a swift hop. That was hardly any sound as he perched on the sills like the creature of the night, shield on his arm. He glanced back. “I’ll pay you!”

Before Bucky could reply, he was already gone.

* * *

True to his word, Steve did pay for the damage.

Bucky had to use one of his extra blankets to cover the hole, layers of dutch tape sticking at the window sills to let the wind out because it was getting steadily colder by the night. It worked, and he slept hoping that no HYDRA assholes were going to kill him because Captain America dropped by with a hello.

And left with the most subtlest, but also cheesiest line possible but Bucky wasn’t about to complain. That just said he was checked out and he knew how these thighs of his had _ that _ kind of power.

When he came back after closing shop, the thick grey blanket was folded neatly into a square on his sofa and he had a brand new window installed to his home. It was so clean, the glass _ gleaming _ with its sparkling new-ness that a bird wouldn’t have noticed it and flown straight through.

Lenny the Landlord told him a couple of people from Stark Industries knocked on his door at ten A.M., said how they needed to get to Bucky’s room to fix a broken window. Lenny had been so surprised by this well-known company standing on his doorstep that he led them up and watched them work. The good thing was how he didn’t give Bucky shit for letting the window break in the first place.

“Did you have some kinda connection with ‘em or something?” Lenny asked, beady eyes squinting at Bucky in suspicion.

Bucky snorted, passing an envelope of his monthly fees to him. “No.”

Everything was short-lived, however, when it happened again.

It was a Sunday, where the bakery closed at two in the evening and Bucky was planning to take a nap back at his place after the usual morning rush where families walked into his place for a fresh loaf of bread or some of his famous salted egg cronuts. The elevators let out a soft _ ding _above his head as they slid open, and Bucky took a few steps out before he froze at the racket that came from his apartment, lights filtering out from the space under his front door.

If anyone broke in, Bucky had nothing to defend himself with other than his own fists and his motorcycle keys. There was probably an umbrella he left leaning against the cabinet near the door, if he managed to sneak in unawares, but that could do so much damage if the burglars had a gun or those fancy weapons everyone nowadays seemed to have at bay.

Pursing his lips, Bucky clutched the keys between his fingers and slowly made his way forward.

He paused once he was directly in front of the door, taking a deep breath. He could get killed doing this. He could get murdered in his own home and no one was going to look after his bakery once he poofed out of existence. His life’s work would be down the goddamn drain.

To hell with it.

He kicked onto the door until it swung open, startling the people holding onto drillers when they snapped their heads towards his way. Bucky blinked at their wide eyed expression, the clothes they wore, and finally the familiar logo on their shirts. He frowned. “I thought you had that fixed last month.”

One of them eyed the key Bucky jutted out threateningly at their direction. “Yeah, well, Ms. Potts told us to fix it again.”

“Who’s Ms. Potts?” Bucky demanded, already thinking of giving Lenny shit for being an ass kisser and allow multi-billionaire companies to just walk into the unit without having to go through that five-page long safety protocols Lenny had made Bucky read before he moved in.

“She’s the CEO of Stark Industries.”

Bucky spun around with his keys still out like he was some kind of lancer, only to see Steve Rogers walking out of his kitchen with a broom and dustpan held in each hand, an amused smile hanging onto his mouth.

_ Sweet Momma._

If Bucky thought he looked good in his suit, the man was downright exquisite in the sinfully tight white long-sleeved shirt he wore with his blue jeans. The sleeves were rolled to his elbows, baring the trunk of those arms, along with the exposed veins that ran down the length of them.

There were no masks to cover those cheekbones, or the crooked way his nose sat in the middle of his face. Instead, Bucky found himself mentally trace the square jaw —a perfect seat if he was honest— and for Christ’s sake, those long lashes Steve had on him should be _ illegal._

He was gorgeous, that was absolutely no doubt about it, and it seemed as if Steve knew how blatant Bucky was ogling him when one corner of his lips twisted with open mischief.

Snapping his dignity back into the curl of his fists, all while beating down the blush threatening to conquer his cheeks, Bucky narrowed his eyes on him. “You broke my window again.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Steve let both broom and dustpan lean against the wall. “I was out with my friends, having some lunch, when the Nazis decided they wanted to chase me around again. And then, well,” he shrugged. “I’m in your neighbourhood again.”

“Where you crashed into my house and broke my window again.” Bucky didn’t realise the soot on his shirt until Steve mentioned the hustle he went through. He pursed his lips. “HYDRA?” When Steve nodded, Bucky huffed out a breath. “I’m not leaving this place.”

“I’m not asking you to?” Steve said, looking confused at the sudden statement.

“Not _ you _ specifically, but those bastards who keep making you dive into my place as if I’m hosting a swimming competition.” Bucky grumbled, slowly bringing down his weaponised keys when it was obvious nothing else was going to happen other than re-fixing his window. He stared at the finishing piece, the workers steadily ignored both of them altogether. “Why does the CEO of Stark Industries know about my broken window?”

“I may have, uh, asked some help from her to hire some men to look at it, and she sent them here.” Steve gestured at said men, who lifted their heads and nodded at Bucky in greeting before going back to work. “And I thought I’d take a look since I wasn’t here when they first fixed it all up, and how I was the one who broke it in the first place.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at him. “You said you’d paid for the damages.”

“Oh, I am, but Pepper was able to get them both half an hour after I called her, so I thought it’d be better if they fix it all up quickly.”

“I’m guessing the landlord unlocked the door for you.”

“He was being very helpful about it.”

“Of course he was,” Bucky muttered, not caring if Steve heard as he turned around to dump a paper bag of leftover pastries he took from the bakery on his table. He was looking forward to a quiet afternoon, and having a bunch of strangers standing around his space was a bit of a mood killer when his bed was already seducing him from his room.

Steve probably saw the cloud thundering up a quiet storm above his head from where he leaned against the armrest of Bucky’s couch, his arms loosely wrapped around his middle. “We’ll leave as soon as we’re done.”

The quiet scrutinisation Bucky was getting from the man was enough to make him move to the kitchen sink, where that morning’s dishes were still piled in it. He ignored them all completely to reach for three glasses from the cabinet. “Do you like orange juice? ‘Cause that’s the only thing I have right now, if you don’t mind.”

“Orange juice is fine,” Steve assured him, and Bucky pulled out the carton from the fridge to fill the glasses to the brim. “But, you don’t have to do all of that, y’know?”

“There’s some pastries I brought back from the bakery I’m working at,” Bucky barged on, completely ignoring him as he set the three glasses full of juice on the table. He swiped a clean plate he left on the counter and began rearranging the packaged pastries on it. “Help yourself.”

“Bucky—“

“Help yourself.” If Bucky sounded a little aggressive then, it wasn’t his fault. Not at all. He had the right to be a little pissed off. He mimicked Steve’s posture, giving him a lazy smile. “Really.”

One of the workers was quietly wiping the dust off the plane of glass while the other kept their tools into their bag. Steve held the dare Bucky had laid down, before he pushed himself off the couch and made his way towards the kitchen.

Bucky stayed still as he watched Steve took one of the glasses he left beside the plate of pastries. Up close, the man was a lot bigger than Bucky realised; a whole 6’3 to Bucky’s 5’11 and it was a sight to behold as he drank in the complete reverence that was Steve Rogers, who heaved in a tall glass of pulp juice in one breath.

Bucky quietly counted to five before nodding to the plate. “Take a bread. Carbs usually make you feel better, if you do that sort of thing.”

“My metabolism works three times faster than anyone else’s would,” Steve explained, eyeing the pile almost thoughtfully as he let his weight leaned against the table with a spread of his hand. “I can eat and digest whatever I want and it doesn’t have that much effect on me.”

He held up a sausage bun in between them, the one that had mayonnaise swirled on top but was already smeared against its transparent bag, and smiled. “The sausage between the buns, if you don’t mind.”

What an _ ass_. He damn well knew what he was doing and it was downright infuriating. Bucky tried not to let the small distance between them affect him so much as he stonily stared back. “Your taste, pal. I know what I like.”

“And I know mine.” Steve said, and his goddamn eyes were _ twinkling_.

“Hey, boss?” One of the men said, already holding onto their bag. “We’re done.”

“Ms. Potts is the boss, Mikey,” Steve reminded him cheerily, turning around to give the worker a bright smile. “You know that.”

Mikey shrugged. “True.”

Bucky let out a small breath when Steve moved away, gesturing towards the food and drinks with a flap of his hand. “Help yourselves. There’s more where this came from since I practically owned a bakery.”

“Thanks, man,” The other worker said, having a chocolate bun for himself while Mikey took a packet of mini croissants. “But, we’ll skip the drinks if that’s okay. Got another place to go to after this and we can’t be late.”

“No problem.”

They waved at him, almost in a hurry to get out as they tugged the front door open and left.

When Bucky looked up, Steve was studying him curiously, the sausage bun looking stupidly small in his large hand as he only stood at the other side of the table. “You own a bakery?”

“Barnes and Cakes.” Bucky pushed the other glass towards Steve. “Officially, I’ve been in business for seven years, but twelve-year-old me would say otherwise.”

He remembered the way the first time he helped his Nana with a roller as they let it moved against the pastry; lots of flour were involved, and the best part of making pie was when he had to press a fork at the edges and slather some egg wash on the surface. Starting from then, he had been going through some books to make other types of things, and he was the one who usually volunteered in making cakes for upcoming parties.

He started doing this business at the age of twelve, and felt like a king on his throne the first time his parents brought back his profits after helping him sell his brownies and mini chicken pies. Those had been fun days.

Steve let his thumb run across the name of the shop at the corner of the packet. “Maybe I’ll drop by one day.”

“Yeah? Captain America would drop by my shop to buy some of my stuff?” Bucky joked, taking a blueberry muffin for himself before he leaned against the edge of the sink, unwrapping the packet. “Now I feel inadequate.”

“Aw, he’s shy,” Steve grinned, causing Bucky to roll his eyes as he took a huge bite. “Yeah, I’ll drop by and buy a dozen of your things as compensation for all of,” He waved his hand generally around him. “_This_.”

“By being a nuisance?” Bucky asked innocently.

“Exactly.” Steve held out his hand, the grin faltering into something sort of shy. “Maybe, a business card for the road?”

Okay, that was. New. Bucky could feel his eyebrows disappearing up his hairline. “Oh, you’re actually serious.”

“Absolutely.”

Before Bucky could let the thought roll over his mind more, a phone blared between them. Steve winced apologetically, withdrawing his hand to dig out for the device from the back pocket of his jeans. “Sorry, just a sec.”

“Hey,” he said into the phone, and Bucky only watched him from his perch as he peeled off the muffin’s wrapper. “Sure, I’ll be there— what— _ yeah?_”

It was interesting, watching the expressions that ran through his face. Bucky didn’t know how he’d get to meet this man and flirt their way through the two exact times they were in each other’s presence, but here he was and then there they were — at this point, Bucky was just going along with whatever was happening on the Conveyor Belt of Life the universe brought him through.

“I’ll be on my way.” Steve said, before ending the call.

Bucky took another bite of his muffin. “Duty calls?”

“Yeah,” Steve replied, a little sigh at the end that Bucky was sure he imagined it. “I gotta go now, and sorry for the mess.”

“I get that a lot,” Bucky said, offering a wry smile when Steve cocked up his eyebrow. “Bakery, y’know? Sometimes you have icing on your face or some kid dropped his cupcake on the floor. Sometimes the freezer broke down in the middle of the night and the shop became every ants’ dream come true.”

Steve let out a bout of chuckles. “The last one sounded very personal.”

“Oh, it is, believe me.”

There was a stretch of silence that hung above their heads as Bucky picked on the crumbs that fell on his shirt. Steve was still holding onto his phone, staring at it for a while as he moulded through whatever it was that crowded his head.

Bucky didn’t know how he was about to handle this situation.

“I think I should go,” Steve began, and it sounded more like a question than it was supposed to be a statement. He slipped his phone back into his pocket as he gave Bucky another smile. “My friends wanted to continue our lunch, since, like everything HYDRA did and done, they like to ruin nice things.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Bucky commented, straightening himself up, nodding at the plate. “Up for another one?”

“You’re spoiling me,” Steve teased as Bucky passed him the other muffin; chocolate fudge. “That’s sweet.”

“Some of my pastries are sweet, Steve,” Bucky deadpanned, lips twitching into a smirk when Steve let out a burst of laughter. “I work in a bakery. I think my bloodstream is made out of chocolate, at this point.”

“Funny,” Steve snickered, and Bucky’s heart had no business thudding against his chest in excitement. “Well, this had been fun.”

“If crashing into other people’s homes count as that for you, sure.” Bucky followed him to the door, standing a few steps back as Steve opened it on his own. “But, a word of advice? Don’t do that again.” 

“I’ll make sure to remember that whenever I’m being chased.” Steve bodily faced him then, holding up the two pastries. “Thanks for these, by the way.”

Bucky shrugged, putting aside his muffin on the counter before wiping his hands down his pants. “My pleasure.”

“And mine.” Steve gave him a wink, eyes briefly snapping down the length of his body that had Bucky pushing his tongue against the row of his teeth to keep out a disbelieving smile, before the star spangled man with a plan walked backwards to leave. “Bye, Buck.”

The nickname zapped down to his toes as Bucky leaned against his doorframe, hand holding onto the edge as he watched Steve leave. “So long, Window Breaker.”

Steve snorted and turned around. Captain America, Bucky noted with joy, sure knew how to pick a pair of jeans that stretched on his ass.

It wasn’t until Bucky was washing his dishes that he realised he had forgotten to give Steve his business card.

* * *

“Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky took out the last of the loaves of bread from the built-in oven, the smell a beautiful thing that seeped into his system in this early morning and made the day a little more bearable. “Yeah, kid?”

“The lady and the man in shades came back.”

Bucky set aside the baking peel to give Peter a look. “What lady and man in shades?”

“Y’know, the lady with red hair and the man with the beard,” Peter continued, peering through the transparent glass that showed them the front of the shop and true enough, there was a woman with braided red hair and a black man in his jogging outfit going through their buns. “They were here three times before.”

“People come here all the time, Parker, that’s how business works.” Bucky stared at them; they were sharing the tray the man was holding, and the woman was choosing what they liked as she set them on it. They were up to a few types of bread now — three warm croissants occupying the surface, along with a bagel, and a madeleine.

“Yeah, I know that. It’s just that the last two times they were here, they were asking for you,” Peter told him, twisting his hands around his apron as he looked over to the couple worriedly. “Well, they asked for the owner, and of course it’s you, but I said you weren’t around every time they did when it’s just that you were always on Candy Crush break at the back whenever they’re here.”

“And you didn’t tell me this last time because…?” Bucky reached for the tongs and made himself busy by rearranging the bread, keeping an eye on the two customers.

“Well, they always came by when it was crowded and it slipped from my mind the moment they were gone.” Peter said, making a show to wear the mittens slowly. “I didn’t _ exactly _ have a good look at them since they _ always _ wear their sunglasses and sometimes a cap, but for some reason, I feel like I know them.”

“You didn’t see them in Most Wanted, did you?” Bucky wondered out loud because fuck, if he was about to get murdered, the very least he could do was transfer ownership of his bakery to his sister or something.

Peter heaved up two full trays of freshly baked bread to the front. “I don’t think so.”

“You better hope so.”

When Peter slid the trays into the trolley, Bucky decided to man the cashier today as the couple finally chose what they wanted and went to pay. Bucky gave them what he hoped was a welcoming smile. “Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you,” the woman said, and the bells in Bucky’s head rang shrilly at the familiarity of that voice.

He merely checked out their food. “You got it.”

“You do catering, right?” The man asked after ten excruciating seconds of beeping half of their stuff.

“Yeah, we do catering for any kind of parties. Cakes, cupcakes, brownies, chocolate fondue, the likes. We have no problem catering for a 50 pax party or even something that would be up to 200 people.” Bucky took a pamphlet from the stack on the counter and pushed it out for them to see. “We do free delivery too.”

He didn’t know why, but these two people were familiar under their aviators. Maybe they _ did _ commit some sort of crime and their faces flashed out from the TV, only Bucky wasn’t able to exactly pinpoint if it was completely true when they look like any other citizen who blurred through his days. 

“That’s great,” the woman said. Bucky couldn’t help the chill that trickled down his spine when she gave him a smile that looked far too secretive for her own good. “There’s a high chance we’ll be hosting a party soon, and we heard good feedback on Barnes and Cakes that we decided to check it out ourselves.”

Fucking hell, maybe she _ was _ a murderer waiting for a good time to slash his neck. And the dude was gonna help her throw out his body _ and _ Peter’s at the landfill before they wash off their hands. Bucky didn’t even know _ these _ people to insult them before this. 

He only gave her a strained smile of his own. “That’s great.” He held out their paper bag. “Come again soon.”

She gave him another smile while the man took the bag from him with a nod, leaving the shop with their order as they muttered within themselves about what Bucky hoped wouldn’t be their next step of plotting their deaths.

Bucky let out a huge breath. 

When he turned around, Peter was gaping after them like a fish out of water. “That was just the Black Widow and the Falcon.”

“What?”

“_That was just the Black Widow and the Falcon_,” Peter repeated, arms waving in open distress. “And they were _here_, in the _store_. How come I didn’t notice them sooner, oh god, hopefully they didn’t recognise me— wait a minute, I_ talked _to them_, oh my god—_“

“Are you sure that was them?” Bucky asked, leaning over the counter to watch them disappear down the street. It made sense, really. The red hair would have given her away, and the Falcon wore goggles most of the time he was out in public, so it wasn’t that far a reach when he wore sunglasses too. “And, no offence kid, but why did you think they’d recognise you, though?”

When there was a squeak, he turned around to see Peter taking out the pamphlets from its container and restacked them together again, not meeting Bucky’s eyes. “I mean, they’re the Avengers, they _ know _ everyone.”

Bucky blinked, before he slowly turned around and crossed his arms to stare him down. “They couldn’t _ know _everyone. There are millions of people they pass by everyday.”

“Sure they can,” Peter rambled on, his hands turning a bit frantic as he quickly dropped the pamphlets back into its required place. “She’s an assassin while he’s a soldier who flies. _ Clearly_, they could pick someone out and then have that thing where the most random people would be on your mind for a whole day until it goes away eventually.”

“Clearly.” Bucky echoed dubiously, watching the way Peter’s shoulders raised to his ears. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Peter flashed him a too wide smile that was just on the edge of a grimace and turned on the balls of his feet, making his way to the back. “I’m gonna clean up a bit.”

* * *

It was a week after Peter’s breakdown that the days cooled down to normalcy as they should be. That was until Bucky was on his Candy Crush break when Peter came crashing out of the back door, hinges almost bursting out of their bolts when the door collided with the wall and narrowly missed Bucky in the shoulder.

“Jesus Christ, Parker,” Bucky hissed, phone jumping in his hands before he gripped it to his chest, a glare shot at his way.

Peter was undeterred when his eyeballs were threatening to bulge out of his sockets. “_She’s here_.”

Bucky squinted at him. “What?”

“The Black Widow’s on the phone,” Peter stage whispered, as if she could hear him from the other line when the phone was at the counter. “She wants to make an order.”

“Then, what’s the problem?” Bucky grunted, tapping on the pause button of his game. “Get her order. What did she want?”

“I can’t, Mr. Barnes,” Peter was pulling on his hair now, pacing around in the doorway. “She’d recognise my voice and then she’ll find out I work here. I can’t do that.”

“And what’s wrong with working here? You’ve been doin’ it for four months.”

“That’s the thing. I’ll have to change work because she knew it’d be _ me _ and I can’t do _ that_.”

“How would she even _ know _ you?”

“Mr. Barnes, please take her order,” Peter pleaded instead, clasping his hands together under his chin and giving Bucky the most pathetic look he’d ever seen. “_Please_. I can’t let her know it’s me because she already recognised me from before, because she saved me from this giant robot and I _ cannot _let her know it’s me, answering the phone, when she wants to take make an order now.”

Bucky stared at him. “Did something happened when she was saving you?”

“_Mr. Barnes._”

“_Fine_, Christ.” Bucky pushed himself off the wall and shoved his phone into his apron pocket. “Is she still on the line?”

“I put her on hold.”

“For, what, three whole minutes?”

“If that’s how long it took me to convince you to take over the call, then yes.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Bucky grumbled, picking up the handle and putting it to his ear. “Barnes and Cakes, how can we help you?”

“So, the party I mentioned the other day,” came Black Widow’s cool voice. “Turns out I do need something from you.”

It was two dozen cream puffs and a dozen of egg tarts needed to be done in exactly six days. She said delivery wasn’t necessary since a friend of hers would be going over and lift the order off their hands. And with a breezy goodbye, she hung up.

Almost a week later, three boxes were waiting to be picked up. Bucky had been busy wiping down the island in the kitchen that he didn’t notice the front door bell ringing for an incoming customer. When he finally looked up, he almost dropped his rag when Steve walked down the aisles of their baked goods. With his heart thundering in his chest, Bucky searched for Peter, hoping he’d be his last minute saviour in interacting with the man.

Only to find Peter was already frozen behind the counter with his mouth pursed into a straight line, clearly freaking out as he openly stared at the national icon of their country with outright horror.

Well, this wasn’t going with what Bucky had in mind, was it?

Sighing under his breath, he set aside the rag and washed his hands. And then, he went out to greet the customer that made both he and Peter halfway in becoming useless piles of mud pie whenever they were in his presence.

Steve lit up when he saw Bucky walking out from the back, making his way towards the counter. “Nice to see you again, Buck.”

“Hey, Steve.” Peter was still as a statue beside him, and Bucky prevented the urge to become the same thing when those bright blue eyes rested on him. “I’m surprised you’re here.”

“I did tell you I’ll drop over, didn’t I?” Steve chuckled, his hands buried in his pants pockets, his smile an angelic thing on his face.

_ It’s unfair_, Bucky thought with hopeless ambivalence. _ This dude is unfair._

He cleared his throat. “So, what can I help you with?”

“Uh, I’m here to pick up an order, actually.” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “About twenty-four pieces of cream puffs and twelve of those egg tarts? It was placed around six days ago, over a call.”

“_You’re _picking up the Black Widow’s order?”

The words didn’t mean to come out as surprised as they were, really. But they just did, and Bucky wanted the ground to unhinge its maw and swallow him whole. Even that snapped a reaction out of Peter when Bucky felt his eyes on the back of his head.

Steve chuckled. “I guess I am.”

Of course it made sense. He was Captain America, who, the last time Bucky checked, was still part of the Avengers and had worked with the Black Widow numerous times. He didn’t know why he sounded so shocked, but Bucky had to give this man his pastries _ now _ or he’d be sprouting more nonsense that could clog up his sink.

“Kid,” Bucky inquired, glancing back to meet Peter’s non-blinking eyes. “Can you get the boxes?”

Peter nodded jerkily, still refusing to talk, and power-walked his way to the back. 

“That’s not the only reason why I’m here.”

Bucky felt as if those Nerds candy were popping underneath his skin as he flitted his gaze back to Steve, who looked surprisingly nervous as he began fiddling through the pamphlets in front of him. He wasn’t even reading them properly; just pulling one out before letting it drop into the required casing again. “I mean, that _ is _ one of the reasons why I’m standing in your store right now, since Nat did order a bunch of things.”

Bucky blinked.

Okay. _ Okay_.

“_One _ of the reasons?” Bucky prodded none too gently.

“One of ‘em,” Steve confirmed, lifting his head for a second before letting his eyes flicker towards the commercial fridge instead, making a valiant attempt to look through the caramel sticks and Danish bread in it. As if he was embarrassed.

Huh.

“You have another reason for this visit?” Bucky asked slowly, and Steve pursed his lips together.

“Nat and Sam’s been pushing me to come here ever since I mentioned I ate some of your pastries and thought they were great, and I really do.” Steve picked up his look up again and maintained eye contact this time, a crooked smile filtering through. “I may also have mentioned that I broke into your house for a couple of times.”

“You told your friends you broke into my apartment and how I gave you some of the bread?”

“And they kept saying how it was rude of me to let you play host when _ I _ was the one who made the mess.” Steve shrugged. “They were right, though. Said I should come here and say sorry properly.”

“And they’re supporting your way of this,” Bucky wetted his bottom lip. “Compensation.”

“Yeah. _ Yeah. _Compensation through, uh,” Steve was doing the thing where he rubbed the back of his neck again; the _ aw shucks _gesture that shouldn’t looked as endearing as it was. “A cup of coffee, maybe?”

Bucky stared at him, words stuck in his throat. 

_ What_.

“I’m sorry?” Bucky blurted out.

Steve was beginning to redden on the tip of his ears as he dragged his hand to his cheek, as if that would chase away the feeling of asking someone on a date.

That particular notion swooped deep and low to the bottom of his stomach that Bucky finally realised how heavy this situation was.

_ Captain America was asking him on a date_.

“Is this how you ask people on dates?” Bucky pushed words out, letting his hand flap around between them. “Just, drop on ‘em without another notice?”

Something faltered in Steve’s look. “I shouldn’t have asked—“

“I never said that,” Bucky cut him off, resisting the urge to run his fingers through his hair because hygiene still mattered, goddammit. “I’m just surprised because I only met you twice and I never thought you’d actually taken interest in a guy who you met _ twice_.”

Steve grinned. “Too soon?”

“I’m just,” Bucky took a breath, laughing a little. “_Surprised_.” 

It was standing there for a second longer, before he realised that both of them had been talking longer than it should be for Peter to take out those orders. Way too long. 

When Bucky glanced at the transparent glass, Peter was nowhere to be seen, but the boxes were left quietly at the edge of the counter that he probably snuck out when both adults were too busy trying to not step on each other’s toes.

“Tell you what,” Bucky began, reaching over for the boxes of pastries before sliding them nearer towards their way. “I’ll go out with you.”

Steve lit up like a Christmas tree, digging for his wallet. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Bucky swiped the card Steve passed to him. “If you promise your friends won’t be stalking around here because they’re scaring the kid, and eventually, they’re gonna scare off the customers.”

“Done.” Steve grinned, and the way their fingers brushed when he passed back the card had Bucky thinking of a lifetime where he wouldn’t be blue-balled ever again.

Letting the corners of his lips stretch into a smile, Bucky let his arms rest onto the countertop, one that had Steve subconsciously leaning against the edge himself. “It’s a date, then.”

Steve laughed lowly, shoulders shaking. “Looking forward to it.”


End file.
